Instant Animal Goes to School Poem

I came across a raccoon, wet and whimpering,
on the way to school.
His tail was very pleaded with blood-rusted spindles and dead fur,
and his eyes were very closed.
I hid him in my shirt, against my chest, over my heart
(so the rhythm might warm him)
so that teacher would not see.
He stayed there very quietly
until frightened by a sigh.

Instant Louder Than You Can Imagine Poem

Louder than a slip wrinkling under her dress,
louder than a held hand,
louder than a lip bleeding
or a knuckle swelling,
louder than a pair of heels hitting the floor
or a dinning room chair falling onto the linoleum,
louder than a quarter spinning.
Louder than a dimpled tie,
louder than a car door locking,
louder than a tissue tearing
as she feverishly dabs her cheeks,
louder than an eclipse,
louder than an empty shot glass,
louder than a closed book,
that's how loud my sister SNORES!

Instant Hello Spring Poem

Good-bye, father's socks.
Good-bye, spoiled milk.
Good-bye, winter.
Spring's ahead!

Good-bye, chapped teeth.
Good-bye, sweat-bruises.
Good-bye, winter.
Spring, hello!

Hello, cardinals' sweet fucking.
Hello, resurrected savior.
Good-bye, winter.
Spring's in sight!

Hello, mosquito nets.
Hello, salmonella.
Good-bye, winter!
Hello, spring!

Instant Birthday Poem

I’m getting another year older
And I’m getting another year older,
And I’m getting another year older,
And I’m getting to learn harmonica moans,
And I’m getting to dance in boxed stutter-steps,
And I’m getting to think that leaving with a smile
Could be hard.

Instant This is the Poem That... Poem

This is the poem that waits
in the laundry room,

that inspects ant lines
because it's hiding

because the other poems scolded it.
And when guilt

tumbles loads of regrets into towers of steam,
this is the poem that laughs

behind the dryer
blowing ants off course.

September Septet

afterwards
we found cut-off shorts
near the shore-rocks where we slept
but we wore trunks out swimming that night
and those girls had been missing
for almost a week
at that point

The broken coffee mug
(darting, jutting, crumbling, cragging...)
holds dried dogwood petals,
held your keys,
slices at my fingers.

Instant I Asked Poem

I asked.

I asked the radar why it was amaranth
and it washed and wavered over targets.

I asked the thrush why it was mottled
and it pecked at my swollen mouth.

I asked the hand of my lover why it curled under my weight
and it curled under my weight.

I asked the crash to sing
and it reminded me of steel.

I asked the iron to grow
and it did and the steel became jealous, bickering with the radar.

I asked the thrush why they fought
and they overheard.

I asked myself if I had ruined the party
and the noose of my apologies to lost lovers grew
as taut and tight as the room I leave for them to
resent me.

The night yielded.

The sleep arrived
and I kept quiet
and everything was perfect.

Grandmother

Grandmother—
disarmed, disquieted—
mulling, shuffling, recanting
her coveted, hidden cookbooks.
Irene.

my dearest Egypt:
I may plague you no longer,
my parted seas dry

September 22, 2011

I wrote more haiku
today than I did poems
the whole of last year

wedding receptions,
my parents' waking divorce,
teens, last night engaged

sipping spinal dew
from the mouths of gendered gods;
ain't I a woman?

dying campfires;
Texas brush-burns conquest through
the char-grown plains

cigarette burns race
against my languid fingers
the morning after

dry bed, tear-salt trails
evaporate from your face,
the dunes wait for rain

I apply the myth
of our relationship to
the pits in my throat

dance-sex auditions,
minimum drink casting couch,
no leading ladies

night air thick with breath,
we sweat, pressed inside white pews
absorbing scripture

Nature as a book
we assigned chapters and named
logic or reason

you wear the madras
pattern of my kisses on
your chest like armor

your calloused hands, twin
cities where the trains still run
on time, lack mercy

tangled in christmas
lights
and plaids

bemoaning David Bowie’s
eventual death
while

well-reviewed lo-fi
sizzles from your Boise
speakers

I Like Collegians

I like collegians.
They are so unlike adults.
They smoke cheap cigarettes.
They snort cocaine in bathrooms at house parties.
They study weekdays.
They go to class unbathed in pajamas.
They support the causes in Africa.
The children and wars and all of the causes in Africa.
They jog around the quad in pairs.
Most of their families are wealthy.
The poor students get better grades.
They sneak whiskey into football games
And write about class and sportsmanship in the student paper.
They forget the names of people they slept with.
They use protection mostly.
They go to the beach in the Spring
And home for Christmas.
They pledge fraternities and sororities
But have never, by any means, been hazed.
They curse loudly at videogames in their dorm rooms.
They wear tweed blazers ironically.
They order pizza and refuse to tip the driver
They buy pot from him instead.
They ignore the solicitous emails from professors
The same emails the administration ignores.
They trade laughs with their roommates.
They do not report rapes.
They write papers in coffee shops.
They play Frisbee shirtless in the sun.
They post pictures from Thursday bar nights online
And tag their friends.
They graduate and eventually run the country.